


"So, Therese. Cats or dogs?"

by Handfoodmentos



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handfoodmentos/pseuds/Handfoodmentos
Summary: A tale of missed chances, second (and third) opportunities and love in a library.





	"So, Therese. Cats or dogs?"

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on partly autobiographical events. 
> 
> I passed an interesting woman twice and tried to find her again.
> 
> Wondered if she might be looking for me too. 
> 
> Wondered what might happen if she was.
> 
> This is my version of Carol and Therese in the same situation. 
> 
> As a first time fanfic writer, I want to say many thanks to Ligeria for her skills as a beta reader and editor. I very much appreciate your help.

Carol Aird was late. “Come on you little buggers, let’s go.” A tall blonde in her 40s, she stood near her front door, leashes in hand, and called to her dogs.

Seconds later, there was a skittering and two small white terriers appeared, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of their evening walk. Carol leashed both of them, grabbed a beanie as it was drizzly out, stuck it on her head, and left the house.

She walked briskly, the dogs, Jack and Milo, trotting beside her. The movement comforted her after a day in the office, made her feel her body was her own again, and she had soon walked the quietening streets, heading to the nearest green space, for twenty minutes. The three of them stopped now and again as the dogs smelled something fascinating that they had to investigate. They walked on.

* * *

Therese Belivet was flushed with sweat and endorphins as her spin class finished. The instructor led them through a cool down and Therese wiped her bike and gathered the things she had propped on the handlebars. She caught the eye of the redhead next to her, a regular at this class like Therese, but then looked away. The redhead’s freckled arms had made Therese idly wonder how far her freckles went on her body, but she’d resolved not to do anything other than flash her a smile when she saw her. If the other woman had started a conversation, Therese had been single for long enough to know she should make nice and see what developed, but she wasn't looking to initiate anything.

She gave a small wave and a thank you to the woman who led the class as she left and moved towards the lockers and changing rooms. She lived close to the gym and would shower at home, but wanted the chance to change her shoes and put on outdoor clothing for the 5 minute walk to her house.

Grabbing her bag from the locker and going into the changing rooms, she sat down and checked her phone. Dannie, a work colleague from a previous job who had become a good friend, had messaged “Yo. How was spin class? Bike next to the redhead?? ;-)” Therese smiled, took a sweaty selfie to show how intense the class had been, and sent it to him.

She left the gym a couple of minutes later, still smiling and tired and at the top of her exercise high. It was drizzly out, so she pulled a hat out of her bag, put it on, and zipped up her hoodie. Head down against the moisture, she moved towards home.

* * *

Carol and her dogs reached the top of the road that led to the park. As they turned down the road, Carol saw a young woman walking toward her. A gym bag hung over one shoulder, and she wore a hoodie and a dark hat. Something about the contrast between her patterned leggings and her darker covered top half caught Carol’s eye. As they passed each other, Carol looked at her and smiled. The other woman was texting, looking at her phone. She must have felt Carol’s gaze though as she glanced up, smiled an uncertain half smile in return and carried on by.

Carol walked on for a few steps then stopped. She looked back in the direction the gym bag woman had taken but there was no sign of her in the worsening light as the drizzle continued. She called her dogs and they carried on towards the park.

As she waited for the dogs to finish exploring the undergrowth and bushes and smells that they found so exciting, Carol went over her day in her head. Her role at the local university was focused on supporting the staff and students of the Faculty of Arts. Carol’s real love was antique furniture and she had rather fallen into librarianship. It was a more secure profession than antiques trading but it didn't light up her heart. Before she got the job, she had imagined spending hours with the primary material in the special collection that the library held. Instead, she spent most of her time at work in meetings or teaching students how to use the resources that the university provided and answering routine questions. She occasionally got to help students or staff who wanted specialised advice but most of them were more interested in the production of art than reading theory or learning about it.

Today had been a day of meetings, meetings about the budget, meetings with the faculty she supported, meetings about departmental strategies, meetings that had overrun and Carol was mentally tired. She was due for her regular Friday evening catch up with her lecturer friend Abby that night, and she almost felt like calling it off, but Abby had been a rock for her during her divorce (and long since) and she wanted to see her. Besides, she would perk up after some food and a drink or two… She gathered the dogs and walked home. As they passed the spot where she had seen the intriguing gym bag woman, Carol looked hopefully, ridiculously – as if she would still be in the area, come on! – but the streets were empty.

* * *

Dannie and Therese were messaging each other.

Therese typed: “Yo. Wie gehts? Good day at work?”

Her message whooshed to Dannie.

His response: “Meh :-(. Huge shitty project needs finishing. You remember how it was? I’ve been given all of Tucker’s work and he’s got nothing!!”

She tried to console him about his work woes and he asked how her new job was working out. Therese had recently moved from the professional world into the academic. She was a talented photographer, and had some experience taking pictures for small local newspapers and news sites, which is where she and Dannie had met. She’d been offering private tuition as well and had also spent time teaching adult learners at a local college. The reality of life on a series of part-time and temporary contracts though had not been easy, and when she had seen a job advertised for a technician at the arts campus of the nearest university, she had applied. She had not thought she had much chance of success, but was delighted when she was offered the post. She had moved into the city, renting for now, but the permanent contract made buying something and settling a real prospect. She’d found a good local gym with several hot instructors, and was happy. Single, but happy.

* * *

Carol stuffed her change into her wallet, stuck it and a menu under her arm, took a glass in each hand, and turned from the bar towards the table under the window where she had left her handbag and Abby waiting. She walked carefully with the two large glasses of red as the pub was filling up, but reached their table safely.

“Here.” She smiled, and offered a glass of wine and the menu to Abby. Her friend was an academic in the business faculty, a brunette with a bark of a laugh and bad taste in women, but they had supported each other through Abby’s various entanglements and break ups and Carol’s divorce and had come out the other side. Until the next time, in Abby’s case. She smiled in return and took the wine and the menu. Carol manoeuvred her own glass onto the table, her wallet into her handbag, and then sat.

Abby took a sip of wine and looked at Carol as she settled. “How are you? How are the dogs?” she asked. Carol murmured something about being busy at work and spent a few minutes negotiating with her friend about what food they should order and could share. Once Abby had been to the bar to order and returned, Carol moved the conversation onto her friend. How was she doing with her latest pursuit, a redhead who part-owned a restaurant, she asked, then sat back and listened to Abby expound all of the redhead’s many apparent and varied virtues. Once the food had arrived and been started and Abby's latest strategies to convince her target that she should at least go for coffee with Abby had been laid out and analysed by the pair, the chat turned to Carol.

“How's your love life? Seen anyone interesting?” Abby asked.

“No,” said Carol. “No. It's all been very quiet. We did have a meeting today though where a senior art lecturer quietly offered to give me a private tour of his studio...” Her voice trailed off.

Abby looked aghast but the face that Carol was pulling showed her that she wasn't going to be taking him up on his offer any time soon. “Any interesting women, I meant, you nitwit,” Abby laughed, but Carol again shook her head and said no. Her thoughts ran quickly though to the gym bag woman she’d seen earlier, her energy, the power in her walk, the screen of her phone casting a glow onto a face that she was definitely interested in. She changed the subject, demanding details of how Abby’s latest minor feud with the administrative staff in her faculty was going, and the evening passed in relaxed and easy company.

* * *

Therese said thank you to her favourite spin instructor, the woman who had just both punished and pleased her class with a finisher track full of sprints to Darude’s Sandstorm, and left the studio. This Sunday morning class was one that she couldn't normally get to – she had a standing commitment with Dannie for breakfast on Sundays at a place near his flat, but he had messaged her the evening before, calling off the next day’s meetup. He’d forgotten he’d agreed to go out with a friend on Saturday night and didn't expect to be up and conscious in time to meet Therese on Sunday. She messaged him as she left the gym but didn't get a response.

As she walked towards her house and a shower and coffee, alight with her exercise high and endorphins, she noticed a rangy blonde woman with two white terriers coming towards her. Something in the way she walked sparked a memory in Therese and she looked at her more closely. Just as the dog walker got nearly close enough to Therese where they could have acknowledged each other, the woman’s phone rang. She didn't stop walking, just put both leashes into one hand, getting her phone out of her pocket with the other and muttering a quiet curse as she looked at the screen to see who was calling. She answered the phone – “Harge?” and she and Therese passed each other, the dog walker apparently not noticing the other woman. Therese had looked at the blonde, hoping to see a smile of recognition, and maybe something else, but the moment passed.

* * *

Once she had dealt with her urgent emails on Monday morning, Carol stole 10 minutes in the special collections room, a boxed off corner of one level in the main library building. It was unusual for a library at a new university to have a special collection and this one was not being used to its potential. Twenty years previously, a former eminent member of staff had bequeathed the university his lifetime’s collection of material on early European furniture and furniture design. Recognising its value as a public relations draw but not really seeing how it could be used by the undergraduate students who were their day to day market, they had constructed this room in which it could be housed, occasionally consulted, and now largely ignored. Carol’s role included managing access to the collection, and it had been a factor in her wanting to work in this university library. She had visited it in her previous life after seeing a one line reference to it in an article in a trade magazine and was enthralled by it. The chance to look at such significant early and influential texts as the academic had amassed had been a dream for her and she knew that there would be others outside the university who felt the same way.

She unlocked the door this morning, and went into what she regarded as her haven. It was a room full of books. Shelves around the outer walls, shelves in the centre of the room. All full of primary and secondary material about furniture and furniture design. There was a large proportion of twentieth century material in the collection, and that was on the open shelving or in pamphlet boxes, but the rarer and older texts were held in a glass-fronted cabinet.

Carol sat at the bench desk that ran along one side of the room and unlocked the cabinet. She looked along the shelf until she found what she wanted and pulled it gently out – a second edition of Thomas Chippendale’s _The Gentleman and Cabinet-Maker’s Director_. She was amazed that she was able to handle, to leaf through, such material, something that was so historically important in her area of interest. And all in this boxed-off corner of a mid-ranking university library. Looking through the text relaxed her and her mind began to wander over her weekend. She went back to her morning walk with the dogs the day before when she’d had a call from her ex-husband about his wanting them to both go to a mutual friend’s retirement party in several weeks’ time. There was something about when she took the call that was a burr in her subconscious. Had she ignored someone she knew? Blanked a colleague? She had seen someone in the tail of her eye and subtly recognised them. She played the moment in her head and realised with a sinking feeling that it had been the gym bag woman. Shit. Missed her. Shit. Carol had definitely wanted to meet her properly, get her number. She resolved to keep walking that route with her dogs and to keep her eyes on the people about. Surely they would run into each other again soon?

Carol’s manager’s manager, the director of the university library, Heather, was a woman who had risen in seniority and influence simply by being in the organisation a long time. She was regarded as a safe pair of hands by her own managers as her operational strategy for the library and its future was to change as little as she could. Caution and business as usual were her mantras. Despite this, she obviously felt that she should be seen to consult her staff on a day to day basis and meetings were called between various teams at the drop of a hat. The attitude that every decision needed a meeting had permeated the culture of the place. Decisions were not taken quickly or singly at the university library under her rule.

Heather had only just turned fifty but wore the business uniform of an older woman – shoulder-padded, sober-coloured skirt suits, natural tights and court shoes, along with a page boy style haircut. No jewellery but for a tiny watch on her ample left wrist. When her attention wandered in any way, she fiddled with its bracelet, moving the watch away from and towards her hand. She was fond of repeating what others had said as if she had come up with remarkable new insight and Carol hated having to ask her to decide anything. It was like trying to get blancmange to move.

Carol’s own manager was an older man who looked like a stereotypical male librarian and acted as if he was only interested in seeing out his time before he could retire to his garden. Peter was, however, a skilled schemer in an ancient tweed jacket, long versed in ways to irritate Heather who had leapfrogged him in seniority. When Carol approached him about making better use of the special collection, of promoting it, he agreed that it would be a huge bonus for the library and the institution it sat within. He also saw it as an opportunity to force a change upon Heather, making her as uncomfortable as she ever was. He suggested that Carol ask for her idea to be added to the agenda for the next whole team meeting, and quietly hoped he would be sitting close enough to Heather to witness her struggle with the concept of changing something in her realm.

* * *

Later that week, Dannie and Therese met up in a local bar that brewed its own beer. Dannie, about the same age as and only just taller than Therese, was a dark haired, bouncy ball of energy. They had first met at the news site when Dannie had noticed Therese rolling her eyes at a very serious colleague and their pronouncements in the break room one morning. He had contacted her via the internal messaging system the company had and they had discovered a mutual outlook on life and a shared, dry sense of humour. Their friendship meant a lot to both of them and had survived her changing jobs.

Dannie had just started working out in a new gym and half of their first beer had gone while he ranked other regulars in order of attractiveness. Top of his list was a Filipino guy who Dannie thought was very easy on the eye, but a tall and tanned blond was a close second.

He finally finished rating his gym buddies and turned the conversation to his friend. “How about you, Therese? Made any move on the spinning redhead yet? Have you thought of any other kind of indoor exercise you might want to do with her?” He waggled his eyebrows, gave her a knowing look.

She laughed and looked at her beer. “No! All I want to know is how far her freckles go!” She hesitated a moment then took a swig of her drink and told Dannie about the blonde dog walker. She told him how she had seen the woman she now knew in her head as the Interesting Dog Walker just twice in the flesh but that she had appeared much more often in her recent thoughts. She told him how much she regretted the phone call that the woman had taken, regretted also not catching her eye, not starting a conversation or getting her number. She was a dumbass, she said. “This is literally the only woman I’ve taken a second look at in the past six months, and I have no way of knowing if I will see her again.”

Dannie looked sympathetic. “If you know that you’ve seen her at certain times and at certain places though, then don’t you just need to keep doing what you’ve been doing and you’ll see her again? Just make sure you’re not texting this time. Keep your eyes open!” he said with a smile. Seeing that they had both finished their drinks, he picked up their glasses and made his way to the bar for another round.

* * *

Carol and her colleague and friend Louise were first out of the conference room. This month’s whole team meeting had set a record for how long it had gone on – over two and a half hours. The bulk of that time had been spent listening to reports from team members tediously detailing just how busy they all were, how many training sessions they had run, how many items they had catalogued, how essential they were to the running of the place. Every other meeting, Heather, who chaired, reversed the usual (alphabetical) order that reports from faculty librarians were given in. Carol therefore had to wait until near the end to give her report and talk to her special collection agenda item. She sat, feigning interest, fiddling with her phone and reading emails under the table while she waited for her turn in the spotlight.

“Report from the Faculty of Arts, please?” Heather said, and looked at Carol. The room was almost unbearably stuffy. The sun had come around the building they were in and was now just at an angle where it shone into the faces of those seated on one side of the large table. Heather muttered something to Peter, who was sitting beside her, and he slowly got up, pulled the blind and returned to his seat. Carol didn't like to take part in the arms race of team members listing their every single movement since the previous meeting so highlighted the points that would most interest her colleagues and moved on. If they wanted to, they could read the rest in the written reports that they had already submitted. This torture was all unnecessary.

Carol wrapped up her brief sketch of her recent work, the last of the faculty librarian reports. She looked at Heather, got a small nod in return and moved onto her agenda item. She cleared her throat, looked at her notes, and began.

“I would like to propose that we try to make more of the John Verlander special collection than we do currently. It's an underused and valuable resource.” Peter sensed Heather stiffen at the word “underused”, as she had – two roles and seven years ago – been the librarian in charge of the collection. Hypersensitive to criticism, she seemed to feel this statement was a dig at her own stewardship. Just as he started to enjoy his manager’s discomfort, Carol went on: “I feel that it could be marketed much more effectively and widely and bring kudos both to the library and to the university.” Heather visibly relaxed at the thought of increased credit for her department and Peter’s mood fell.

“Hardly anyone outside this room knows it exists at the moment, so I would like to run a project that focuses on improving its visibility within the institution and outside of it. We could photograph it, improve its presence on our website, make the catalogue more accessible. It’s so good that more people need to know about it and use it.”

Carol wrapped up after some remarks about other university library special collections and how they were publicised outside their institutions and Heather looked pleased with her idea. “I’d been thinking about our special collection myself,” she said. “I really think that it could be marketed more effectively and widely and, well, that perhaps you could co-ordinate some kind of project to do this, Carol?” The librarian hid her grimace by looking down as Heather continued: “Do we need to form a working party to look into this, have another meeting down the line?”

Carol knew that the quickest way to get out of this room was to agree. After some assurances about who would be involved and how regularly they would get together to report to Heather or Peter, the meeting closed and everyone scattered.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Therese went to her scheduled spinning classes religiously, hoping to see the Interesting Dog Walker on her way home. Every time she left the gym, sated by sweat, she kept her head up. She looked. She hoped. She was lucky enough to be able to walk to work and, as she walked through an area en route that was popular with dogs and their owners, started scanning the green space for her target. Or at least the two small dogs that might lead her to another encounter with her. She was hyper aware of everyone she passed while she was in the area but did not see her Interesting Dog Walker. Even Dannie stopped asking if she had seen her yet.

* * *

Therese’s role as a technician at the large campus dedicated to the university’s Faculty of Arts meant that she helped their students produce art and artefacts. She was there to help them move towards turning the art in their head into art in physical forms, however she could. She specialised in helping with photography and the manipulation of images, but could turn her hand to other aspects of print-based work too like linocut art. She’d slotted in well with the small technician team based there – one other full-timer, a large, bearded, wheezing man called Steve and a part-timer – an arty-looking, open-natured young woman called Ana. She worried that Ana – who had also applied for the full time job and who she had met during the interview process and very much liked – would resent Therese for being appointed instead of her, but she had been nothing but welcoming. Ana said her current hours suited her, leaving her plenty of time for her own creative work, and that she was happy that the other woman had got the job.

The three of them shared an office that Steve had turned into a mini plant house. He had a passion for growing chili pepper plants and there were always several of them at various stages of their lives on a vacant desk in there. He passed extras onto friends and colleagues, but loved having a mass of plants to look at when he was at work and in the office. As well as the chili peppers, Steve grew spider plants and cactuses and swore they made the air in there cleaner. Therese and Ana had to deal with keeping them alive and watering them on his days off, but both liked the plants and to see Steve happy. The three of them covered the week from 9am to 10pm and worked earlies or lates in rotation. Inspiration often struck students as the day progressed, and so evening shifts were generally busier than mornings. 

For Therese, one of the huge bonuses of being in the faculty was the chance to display her own work in the small, on-site gallery space. This was open to the public throughout the year, busiest when the final year students had their degree show. All of the art makers on staff, academic and technician, were given the opportunity to be part of the rotating group whose work was shown alongside student pieces. Steve specialised in fabric and collage and Ana in ceramics. Five of Therese’s prints were currently on one of the gallery’s white walls. They focused on capturing the beauty of the everyday and largely unnoticed. This was her preferred photography, things and shapes and not more tricky subjects like people. She was greatly enjoying university life.

* * *

At her desk in the shared librarians’ office, Carol ran a final search in the library’s resource discovery service and double checked that the answer the database gave matched one of the options she had on her worksheet. She was prepping for a session for final year Fine Art students. They had to produce a written paper alongside their art, and they needed to show they had used academic sources such as journals or databases. This session was a recap on skills and sources that the students had been shown before as part of regularly offered (though optional) library skills training, but it came at a good time for the less academically diligent. Carol’s aims were for it to be useful and interactive – to equip the weakest with baseline skills and give those who were more advanced knowledge about specialised materials. 

She was essentially doing a retread – updating a session that she had run, successfully, the previous year. Lots of interaction, repetition and hopefully useful information. There would be a maximum of about twenty-five students in the group, and she was just making sure that she had enough copies of her PowerPoint and her handouts when Louise appeared beside her. “Coffee, later?” her friend asked. It was a habit of theirs to take a walk together across campus most workday mornings to a coffee shop in another building, for the fresh air, for the caffeine, for the non-work chat time. The financial cost of buying a mocha almost every day was heavily outweighed by the positives it brought with it.

Carol shook her head. “Sorry, got to get to the arts campus for this session at 11am.” She pointed at her bundle of handouts and papers to take. She intended to walk to the separate site where she was teaching, take the half hour travel time to temporarily slough off her work skin, and hopefully arrive refreshed. She enjoyed being at the other site, always made time to look at what was in the gallery, and to go and chat to the technicians in their office. Besides, she was out from under the gaze of Peter and her other colleagues while she was there. It was her time. Ten minutes later, Carol gathered what she needed and set off.

* * *

Therese was on a late shift that day, having to be in for work at 2pm. She got up and went to the gym after a small breakfast. Best to get her workout over and done with, she thought. She loved how she felt after a morning gym session, craved endorphins, but sometimes finding the motivation to get there was hard. Today she stayed off the exercise bikes, instead running a quick 5km, then spending time on a crosstrainer before some exercises with free weights. She was pleasantly surprised when she arrived to find her favourite spinning instructor was now doing additional hours as a member of the gym team. The brief, warm chat they had left Therese with a grin and the germ of the idea that there were other women she could be interested in besides the Interesting Dog Walker who she had not yet managed to meet again. She’d liked the look of this woman from the first of her classes that she’d attended – her light blue eyes, lean arms that showed dedicated gym time and small, angel wing tattoos on her hands. Therese was still quietly searching for the dog walker, resorting lately to varying the times she left the gym after her spinning classes – just to see if that would make their schedules coincide – but was losing hope. Maybe she would be using the gym more often for a while. Maybe she might need some personal tuition… She texted Dannie after her workout – “Hot spinning instructor is now hot gym instructor too ;-)” and they spent the rest of the morning messaging each other.

* * *

Carol’s library session had gone well. She’d managed to get most of the students interacting with each other, if not with her, and felt that they all now had some baseline knowledge and had seen how to apply it. She ended by reiterating that they could contact her if they needed any help at all with finding or using library resources, and released them. She both loved and hated this aspect of her job. She got nervous, doubted that any students would attend, doubted even if they attended that they would pay attention, disliked feeling exposed in front of and handling these larger groups. But she also knew that what she wanted to get them to learn were useful skills and there was little better than when she knew a group was with her, liked her, acknowledged her jokes. Small scale performing, she felt, whether she sank or swam. 

Today had been a success so she was smiling as she packed up her things and went to find Steve in the technicians’ office. They were friends, first meeting when Steve had been able to help with an IT issue Carol had at the site one day while about to deliver a session. When she stopped into the office afterwards to thank him, he had offered her a chili pepper plant and their friendship had grown. They found they both enjoyed classic British radio comedy as well as historical fiction and many conversations revolved around new recordings they had discovered or what they had recently read.

As Carol arrived at the office, she saw that the desk that had previously been occupied by Rich (and that had been empty since he left for another job) was now being used again. Someone had left a clean mug and some teabags there, and a pot with some pens in. A stapler lay on top of some printouts and a book about Martin Parr. 

She looked at Steve, moved towards the desk, picked up the photography book, and flicked through it. “You finally have a full technicians team again? Great. Who are they?”

Steve looked pleased, as he fiddled with something on his computer. “Therese, photographer. Been here a few weeks now. Ex-industry, websites or something, first academic job. Doing really well. Students like her, faculty like her.” Carol smiled as he continued, “She’s covering the late shift today so not here until 2. She has some work up in the gallery at the moment though. Worth looking at, I reckon, before you go back.”

Carol resolved to go and see what was there. Therese was an interesting name. Maybe her art would be interesting too. She would go to the gallery after she’d had a quick lunch with Steve. Treat herself to ten minutes’ worth of looking at art before she went back to the office. She put the book back down, and, as they left for the cafeteria, Carol began telling Steve about that tortuous last whole team meeting and Heather’s actions in saddling her with another bloody working party for the John Verlander collection project.

* * *

Therese came into the office, shrugged off her jacket and backpack and saw that someone had moved the book she’d been looking at the day before. Steve was back at his desk. “Someone been here?” she asked, gesturing at the book with the takeaway coffee she had in one hand.

“Oh, yes, sorry,” he said. “Carol Aird was here – from the library – the arts librarian. She came to run a session for the final year students and stopped by afterwards. Must have moved your book. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Therese said, moving the book back to the side of her desk. “How’s the morning been? Anything interesting? Any students awake and working yet?”

Steve laughed. “No. No students – well, one guy interested in starting to work with ceramics – gave him some basic advice but suggested he talk to Ana when she’s back in.”

Therese sat down and started to log onto her PC. Steve carried on. “I had lunch with Carol after her session though and she mentioned a job that I thought you might be interested in. Photographing some books?”

She turned in her chair towards him, listening now. 

“She has a project just starting about some special collection they have at the library. Underused and under-publicised at the moment. They have some huge working party convened to work out what to do with it but could do with someone to take photos of some of the material to stick online in an updated website. I suggested you might be able to fit it in?” He stopped as Therese turned back to her computer. 

“Can I do that?” she asked over her shoulder. “Do it on work time?”

“If it’s an internal project, it may be ok,” Steve said. “Maybe you could do it on a morning when you’re in early? While it’s quieter here? Maybe a day when Ana is in so she can cover any requests?”

“Let me think about it,” she said and got into her emails. Taking photos of old books for a website didn’t exactly seem like high art but might it be nice to see another campus, meet more people?

* * *

Carol had greatly enjoyed ten minutes looking at the art currently showing in the gallery before her walk back to her office. The five photos being shown by the new technician – Therese, hadn’t Steve said her name was? – were colourful abstracts. They focused on shapes and form and appealed to Carol very much. She hoped that Steve was right when he said Therese might be able to take some pictures for the special collection project – she was obviously someone very talented.

When she got back to her desk, she metaphorically rolled up her sleeves, cracked her knuckles and did some internet stalking. She first searched the staff list on the university intranet for entries for Thereses. There was only one. Belivet, she read, Therese Belivet: technician, Faculty of Arts. Belivet? Unusual first name, unusual surname. Wonder where that came from. She then widened her search to the internet. Typed in “Therese Belivet”. Not much came up. A basic LinkedIn entry, background was in industry, as Steve had said. Not a lot of information there, but Carol could work out vaguely from the entries that Therese was at least ten years younger than her. She clicked on a potential Instagram account – the photos of someone young and blonde came up. Could this be her? Seemed like a party girl if it was. Photos of groups on a beach holiday and enjoying evenings out. Was this her? The work that she’d seen in the gallery didn’t seem to fit this woman, but you never knew what people did in their spare time. Carol came out of the account and scrolled down the results page a bit. Found another possible Instagram and clicked on it. This was her account; it must be. Several of the same type of composition as she had seen in the gallery – abstracts – form and shape their strength. She moved through the images. All things, no people. Must be the technician though, surely? Shame there were no pictures of her there. Carol ideally liked to see what people looked like before she dealt with them – just a quirk. In her experience, faces and characters often matched.

Having reached the extent of her sources for easily finding out about people – it constantly amazed her how much information was out there online and how straightforward it was to find with basic skills – Carol emailed Therese, the talented technician with the unusual name, outlining the job she had in mind and asking if she would be interested.

* * *

Carol and Therese emailed each other a few times over the next couple of weeks to try to set up a day when the photography could start. Carol initially set out what she wanted, what images she felt would showcase the collection best on the more prominent website that Heather had promised her and her working party. What began as an exchange of emails that were formal in tone very much warmed up during the course of their conversation. Therese had quizzed Steve about Carol – what was his friend like to work with, what was she like as a person – and what he told her – about what made Carol laugh, what she was a geek about – encouraged Therese to move quickly to informality in their interactions. Carol, someone who normally took a while to become friends with new people, began to like Therese a lot. They moved from email to messaging over the internal system the university had. 

0945 Carol to Therese:  
Morning! How was spinning last night? x

1002 Therese to Carol:  
Hi. Sorry. Chatting to Ana. Good thanks. Hot instructor was hot ;-) Beasted us.

1003 Carol to Therese:  
Sounds good :-)  
Bloody Milo whining all yesterday evening. God knows what's up. Will keep an eye on him.   
Peter asking about moving the JV project on. Are you still able to come and take some initial photos tomorrow morning? 

1006 Therese to Carol:  
Poor dog. You’re so heartless ;-)   
(Jack ok? Not whining??)  
Yes to tomorrow for the photos. Main campus at 0930? What do I need to do? Ask at the Helpdesk for you? 

1006 Carol to Therese:  
Great, yes, thank you so much for doing this. Looking forward to finally meeting in person!

Carol was indeed very much looking forward to meeting Therese in the flesh. Their new friendship was exciting for her. Therese had quickly been warm and clever and funny and modest over emails and messaging and so Carol didn't expect her to be any different in person. That she was talented as well was clear, and Carol hoped their interactions would continue post-project. Carol had not been in a relationship for a couple of years. While she had been married once, to Harge, an academic now at a different local university, she had finally worked out that her preference was for women. She was grateful to her ex-husband for the good times they had had together, and they remained friends. He had encouraged her to look into librarianship initially, and she owed him something for that. The woman she had seen near the gym was the first person she’d thought about, been interested in, for a while. She’d eventually confessed to Abby about how she had been searching for this just-twice-seen woman. How she had recently walked the dogs only along that route, despite normally varying where they went for their and her sanity. How she walked slowly on the days of the week when she thought she had seen her. Slightly varied the times she went to see if that would make a difference and bring them together. How she looked at small women in gym gear who resembled her before realising they were not her. 

Abby had laughed, been sympathetic. “You idiot.” She smiled. “How come you missed her the second time?”

“Harge rang,” Carol said, rolling her eyes. “Wanted me to go to David’s retirement party with him. I took the call, kind of only half saw someone and then didn’t fully realise it was her until the next day.”

“Bloody Harge and his immaculate timing!” Abby laughed. “Look, you need to relax a bit. If she’s out there, you can meet again. If not, there are other women who might be able to make you forget about her for a while.”

Carol now thought about Abby’s advice. She liked Therese Belivet. Maybe she could help her forget this gym bag woman. Though how could she, Carol, measure up to the hot spinning instructor? She hoped, anyway. Hoped that tomorrow would bring good things.

* * *

Therese was in a good mood as she arrived on the main campus. True, she was lugging a tripod and camera with her, but it could have been worse. Through Steve’s connections, she’d managed to arrange to borrow a couple of softbox lamps from the university AV team and so at least hadn’t had to bring along the ones that were at the arts campus. The AV team had said they would leave theirs for her at the library helpdesk. She stopped off at a university food outlet before she reached the building where she thought the library was and bought a coffee to go. She was also looking forward to meeting Carol in person after their swift getting to know each other. The mental image she had of Carol was typical librarian – sensible skirt, cardigan, all buttoned up – although the person she’d been corresponding with didn't quite fit this cliché…. This online Carol was warm and sarcastic and funny and bright and Therese couldn't wait to see if the picture she had in her head was actually right. She was still chatting to her hot spinning instructor – had got her phone number and friended her on Facebook, went to her classes and smiled as their eyes met – but nothing concrete had happened there yet. Maybe it was time for her to develop a librarian kink? Had she read the signals she thought Carol was sending right? She would soon find out. She smiled to herself, hoisted her backpack back on and walked towards the library.

* * *

Carol had been fussing about since she arrived at work. She knew she was doing it. Maybe the extra cup of coffee she’d had when she reached the office had not been a good idea. She had checked and checked that she had the key for the special collections room, been in and out of the room itself a couple of times, making sure that everything was as it should be for Therese’s arrival. She even tried to dust in there using the office’s communal duster – it was not a highly used area and so was not on the cleaning team’s rota to be anything more than occasionally looked after. Louise, who arrived at work about ten minutes after Carol, noticed her friend’s toing and froing and followed her the next time she went to the room. 

“What’s going on? Super secret royal visit today?” she asked, leaning on the doorframe but not actually going in.

Carol turned, looked distracted. “Just the photographer coming for a first shoot. I want to make sure it’s all looking as good as it can if we’re going to make the project work.” She scanned the books, the room, again then came out and locked the door behind her. They moved back towards their large office. “It’s Therese who’s coming,” she went on. 

Louise’s face lit up with understanding. “Ah, Therese? So you finally get to meet at last?”

Carol’s new friendship had been discussed between them during their recent coffee trips, alongside normal topics such as Louise’s holiday plans, their mutual irritation at Heather’s management style, and what they had both been reading.

“Yes,” she said, “and I am stupidly nervous. Online Carol is so much better than real life Carol. What if real life Carol is a huge disappointment? Shit.” They reached the office, Carol following Louise to her desk. She sat in her friend's visitor chair and let out a defeated noise.

“Calm down,” Louise said gently. “Calm down. It’ll be fine, honestly. When she comes, just be yourself. You’re great, online and in real life, remember that. Calm, love, calm.”

Carol smiled gratefully and took herself back across the office to her own desk, slightly buoyed but still fretting.

Her phone rang – Helen from the library helpdesk. A visitor for her? Theresa something?

* * *

Therese finished her coffee and went into the library. She presented herself at the Helpdesk and the young woman seated behind it rang down to tell Carol that someone was there to see her. Therese didn't bother to correct the woman's mangling of her name – just hoped that Carol would know who she was. While the call was being made, she stood at the desk, waiting, and looked behind it. Tucked away towards the back were two large packages marked Belivet, presumably the lamps that Steve’s connections had provided. 

When the woman put the phone down, looked at her and said, “She’ll be up in a moment, do you want to take a seat?” Therese pointed at the packages.

“I think those are for me,” she said. “Someone from AV is lending them to me for a job here.”

Helpdesk woman asked to see Therese’s staff ID card, and then invited her around the desk to pick up the lamps, smiling at Therese’s efforts as they were unwieldy, finally trying to help. 

At that point, Carol came upstairs. 

She walked towards the Helpdesk, still apprehensive about meeting her new friend, despite Louise’s earlier reassurance and coaching. She checked that her shirt collar was sitting properly as she approached.

She looked at the two women behind the desk, both leaning over, trying to get the lamps in Therese’s arms. Helen caught sight of Carol approaching and stood up, making a small gesture towards Therese. “Your visitor,” she said.

Therese turned at the statement and saw Carol.

* * *

It was as if she had stopped being able to hear. She stood. Looked. Could it be? Her Interesting Dog Walker was Carol Aird? All that time spent searching and she was here? Now? In front of her? This tall blonde woman in a white shirt? A woman she knew, was learning to know, who she liked, could make laugh? 

Her brain restarted. 

She took a step and moved towards Carol, smiling, holding out her hand. Carol took it, held it. When their palms touched, warmth to warmth, it was right. As if they were two halves coming together. A moment of completeness.

“Pleased to finally meet you,” Therese said with a smile as they still shook hands, were holding hands now as the shaking part tailed off. 

Carol hadn't said anything. She seemed to gather herself. “Likewise,” she murmured.

Therese didn't want to let go of Carol’s hand and her joy in having found her Interesting Dog Walker but felt they should move away from the Helpdesk and the curious Helen. “Shall we?” she asked softly, gesturing into the building. Carol was still quiet, reserved, compliant, so Therese gathered her kit and they moved together towards the stairs.

* * *

When Helen said “your visitor,” and Therese turned, Carol had been admiring her ass. 

As she stood up and their eyes met each other's, Carol held her breath. Some primal part of her recognised Therese. Recognised the way she moved, despite only having seen her, the woman with the gym bag, oh so briefly. She had replayed those moments stored in her memory so often that she knew them like anyone knows the movement of anyone they are close to. Therese Belivet? She was the woman for whom she had latterly forced her dogs to walk the same boring daily route? It was Therese who had stuck in her head? 

She couldn't move. Stood there. Therese approached, holding out her hand. When Carol extended her own hand in response, she was almost afraid to touch Therese. Feeling on the edge of something now. Afraid that she was dreaming, that none of this was real. Then their hands met and she knew Therese was flesh. Warm flesh. She heard her say something, guessed it was a standard greeting, replied in kind. Her mind still taken up by processing what was happening, she allowed Therese to move them towards the special collections room.

* * *

Once in the body of the library, Carol led the way, Therese behind. 

The photographer was fizzing with excitement at having found the woman she’d been searching for, but Carol’s behaviour with her had been weird. She wanted to tell her, lay out the circumstances, the extraordinary run of circumstances, that had brought them together. She wanted to touch her, to feel that moment of completeness again. She knew that even if she never felt it again, her life was richer for having experienced it once. 

But Carol in person wasn't behaving like online Carol, like the Carol Therese thought she knew, was beginning to know. Carol in person, real life Carol, was buttoned up, not open and warm. How was the difference so big? She’d barely looked at Therese when they shook hands, had stayed quiet on their walk through the library. Had she been wrong about the signals? Maybe she had been. She decided to hold off on saying anything straight off, to try to charm real life Carol, see what developed, if online Carol would emerge.

The librarian unlocked the room and they entered.

* * *

Carol was still trying to process what had happened when they got to the collection. A random series of connections and coincidences had brought this woman here, now. She couldn't think. Couldn't think what to do, what to say. Chivvied herself. Safe ground. What was safe ground? Her own voice sounded strange to her when she spoke. Posh and stiff.

“So, I am really glad that you're here to make a start taking photos for the new website. I saw your work at the gallery – you’re obviously very talented. I mean, that's why…”

She watched Therese. Stopped. Why was she, Carol, behaving like this? What was going on with her brain? 

Therese smiled politely. Decanted the equipment she was carrying and walked further in. Carol could see her assessing the room, the light, where might be best to set up. She felt extraneous to the process, to Therese’s being in work mode. Wanted to say, I’ve seen you before. I’ve been looking for you. I have seen you walk past me a thousand times in my head and in each of them my bloody ex-husband calls and interrupts. Can you feel this? Can you feel the connection? Instead, she drew up a chair at the bench desk and tried not to get in Therese’s way.

As Therese capably manoeuvred books and lamps and camera into place, setting up an initial shot, Carol watched her. Therese had pushed her sleeves up her forearms. Carol could see slightly tanned skin and a paler line under her watch as it moved with its wearer. She noticed a vein in her forearms bumping up the skin, making a hill in the landscape of Therese’s body. She was struck then by a sudden urge to put her mouth on Therese’s wrist, to taste it. Fought it. Instead picked up a pen, put it down again.

* * *

Therese was trying to busy herself setting up some shots. She chose a couple of the more attractively bound titles and looked to see where they might be best photographed. She decided upon a spot, focused on doing what she was there for, what she was good at.

Carol still wasn’t saying much. Nothing since her opening statement. Therese could hear her fiddling with her phone, with a pen. As she worked, she knew Carol was watching her. Felt her eyes as if she was facing her. Carol seemed to reach a decision, turned away, picked up the pen, dropped it. 

Therese turned to her, cleared her throat. Carol had her head down but looked up.

“So.” A long pause. “How is Milo? Not still whining?” She smiled.

Carol had blue eyes, she saw.

She looked down again as she answered. “Oh, he’s fine. It was just the one evening. Don’t know what was up with him.”

Carol stopped. 

Therese wanted to keep her talking. Wanted to fill the silence at least. 

“Spinning was great the other night. Loved it. Sweated a puddle. Some painful sprints but the music is good and the endorphins? Fantastic.” 

No response, but Carol seemed a bit less tense. Carry on. “If you pick a particular bike there, you can see right down the instructor’s top.” Therese laughed, and Carol smiled. 

“No!” she said with a small laugh. “You don‘t?!”

“I do sometimes,” Therese admitted. “Depends who’s taking the class.” She did a comedy wink.

It became easier then. Carol was less awkward. She told Therese about the draw of the John Verlander collection for her and about her previous jobs. They bonded over the move into university life from the outside world – such a change in working practices. Carol bitched mildly about Heather and they both admitted how much they loved Steve. 

During the chatting, Therese had been taking a succession of photos. Various angles, various texts. Shots of the glass-fronted cabinet. Most of the quality books were photographed individually. Enough images, hopefully, to furnish the new website, initially at least. 

She took her final picture and passed the book back to Carol. Blue grey, she thought, not blue. Carol looked away, awkwardness resurging. 

Therese started to pack up. She must have been wrong about any signals she thought that Carol was sending. Not the first time, probably not the last. A shame, but there you go. They could be friends. She would save the story of her search for the Interesting Dog Walker for later in their friendship.

* * *

Carol wanted to make herself as small as possible. To be unnoticed. She didn't dare look at Therese again, afraid of what she might feel. Afraid of what she might do. She was sitting, thinking it was possibly best for her to go back to her office and leave Therese to it, when the photographer cleared her throat and asked about Milo.

Safe ground. She raised her head, gave a small smile, looked at Therese. Green eyes. Gentle eyes. Looked away. Therese turned too and lined up the spines of some books as Carol answered that the dog was fine. A beat. Therese carried on, talking about her last spinning class and the advantages of one bike for what you could see from it. Carol gave a small laugh of disbelief. Couldn't initially think that her friend could be so blatant, then realising that yes, yes she could. Relaxed a bit. It became easier then, filling space with conversation like they had done online. 

As they chatted, Carol was still intensely aware of Therese. This compact woman had an energy that had drawn Carol to her in the first place, and now, in this room, it was as if she glowed with it. Therese was wearing black – black jeans and a black long-sleeved top with tiny buttons up the length of the back. She’d shed her jacket as she started work, tied her hair up in a scruffy topknot. Carol watched Therese again as she moved about the room, could imagine standing behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body, close enough to catch the scent of her in the nape of her neck, close enough to bring her lips to the skin at the top of those buttons and discovering, uncovering, what lay beneath.

For all of Carol's plans of mapping Therese's body, she knew she had a decision to make – whether to tell the photographer of their having almost met before, of Carol’s search for her. It weighed on her, hobbled her free running thoughts.

When their eyes met as Therese passed over the last book she had taken a picture of, she shied away. Looked down. Replaced the book where it lived. Locked the cabinet.

She stood at the bench desk, beginning to panic at Therese packing up. She needed her to stay. How could she get her to stay? Ask her something. What? Just speak. 

“So, Therese.” Her mouth was dry. A pause. Feeling her way forward. “Cats or dogs?”

What? What the hell was that? You idiot. My god. How have you ever been in any relationship? Have you ever talked to people before?

She saw Therese stop. Smile at the question. If she was smiling at the weirdness of it, its unexpectedness, at least she was smiling. And not leaving. Carol’s hopes rose.

“Hmm,” Therese said. “Well, I love the loyalty of dogs and the independence of cats. Do I have to choose? Are you going to make me?” She was teasing, willing to engage. Looking at Carol. Her heart skipped upwards. She stepped forward in the conversation again. 

She smiled. “Well, I think you have to. I mean, Jack and Milo aren't going to like you coming over smelling of cats.”

Oh god. What? WHY? This is your flirting? Straight into home visits? It doesn't even make sense. Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Her cringing and self-criticism was halted by Therese’s voice. 

“Well, I would make sure to avoid cats before I came over, I guess,” she said slowly. “Clean up, change clothes and stuff.”

Carol smiled. In relief and at the potential in the answer. She looked at Therese. Her pale skin, green eyes. The energy and calmness of her. She screwed up her courage and stepped forward again. 

“I was actually really happy that you came today, that we met. Not just because we’ve been chatting online and I like you, but because I think I’ve seen you before. I’ve been looking for you.” She gestured towards the chairs by the bench desk and they sat. Faced each other. Close now. Carol could feel the heat of Therese in her knees. Both with one hand on the bench desk. Mirrored postures. All it would take was one bold move and they could touch again.

* * *

Hallelujah. Carol was talking. Therese stopped packing her kit at her question – cats or dogs? – and focused on her again. Where did that come from? She gave her answer with a smile, teasing now. What would she get back? The bumpy conversation lurched as Carol mentioned her dogs not liking the smell of cats but Therese ignored it. Smoothed it out. Listened to the implications of it, heard Carol’s imagined and half-formed future for them. Slowly moved forward towards her with her response.

“Well, I would make sure to avoid cats before I came over, I guess,” she said slowly. “Clean up, change clothes and stuff.”

Her reward was Carol’s smile, whose face lit up, nervousness dissipating. She looked down then back at Therese and started to say something about how glad she was that they had met today but that she also thought they had seen each other before? 

They sat at the bench desk. Knees almost touching knees. Carol was taller than her. Longer limbs. Therese’s feet on the cross member of the wooden chair, Carol's on the floor. Carol's shirt was open at the neck. Therese could see the necklace she wore, silver, some trinkets on it, and her glorious collarbones. A mole. Her neck. The great bloody length of it and her jaw. She could smell her perfume, something woody, warm. Wanted to lean forward, close enough to nestle. 

Focused again on Carol speaking, carrying on, explaining about her having been looking for her, the huge unexpectedness of Therese turning out to be the object of her search.

For a moment, Therese didn't understand. This was her story – the passing in the street, the brief glance, a repeat, regret and searching. How? What? Was it possible? That as she had been searching for Carol, Carol had been searching for her?

“My dogs have been so bored,” Carol continued. “The number of times we’ve walked the route where I saw you, I swear they know every inch of it and every smell.” 

Therese laughed then, at everything, at fate, at coincidence, at life. Carol stopped at this and Therese saw her retreat, scared that her declaration, her confession, had been received as a joke.

“No, no, no. I’m not laughing at you. It's just, god, I’ve been trying to find you too. The times you saw me, I saw you. I even gave you a name. A mystery name - the ‘Interesting Dog Walker’.” Therese did air quotes around the title she had used for Carol for weeks. “I bored my friend Dannie by talking about my search for you pretty much daily. I varied the times I left the gym to see if that would bring us together. I basically stalked small white dogs to see who their owners were. God.”

“Me? You wanted to find me?” Carol, tentative. As if she couldn't believe that anyone would want to do such a thing. “So I’ve been looking for you while you’ve been looking for me? Really?”

Therese scoffed, quickly. “Who wouldn't want to find you? Tall, blonde, easy on the eye, and now, even better, since we’ve been chatting, got to know each other, I know you’re warm and funny and kind and a little bit obsessed with your dogs…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at Carol. Looked at the woman she’d met in the weirdest of circumstances. Inches away. The woman she wanted to know so much more about. The woman who she wanted to explore. The woman with whom she could imagine spending a lot more time. Waited.

* * *

When Therese began to laugh at Carol’s explanation of how she had been trying to find the woman with the gym bag, she was derailed. Flung off. Crashed. Died. Wanted to leave. Instantly. Combust.

Therese’s hasty explanation, her joint confession, the name she had given Carol (she liked that, the air of mystery), her apparent utter bloody truthfulness brought Carol back. She couldn't quite fathom that anyone would be looking for a middle-aged librarian, admiring her physically (of all things), but believed Therese. 

As Therese listed her qualities, Carol knew then that this was it. This was her chance. Their chance. When she stopped, Carol took a running leap. She closed her eyes. Breathed in. Moved her hand closer to Therese’s until they gently but surely touched as if she needed to be grounded, to feel a physical connection for what she was about to say. Therese smiled, turned her hand so they were palm to palm for the second time that day, held on.

“I have a party to go to at the weekend, a retirement function for one of the heads of department. I thought perhaps you might like to come with me.”

A pause. She looked at Therese again.

“Would you?”

Therese thought a moment then smiled. The future, their future, was there to be imagined, explored. “Yes. Yes, I would.”


End file.
